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Daniel Gallik

With his oil light
he opened his book,
quietly tore a page
out (the first page)
and threw it on the
floor. Like the the
his book was going
no where, this time
fast. Threw a lit
match at the paper
on the floor. It
lit - the first match
he sparked. Seemed
all so appropriate.

Crackle, crackle, &
the smoke choked a
mile into the night.
Seemed appropriate
also that no one came,
no fire bells rang
as the quiet kept up.
His wife lay there,
and did not awake,
never awoke. He had
enough time to pee.
Even flushed. Love
sank into the rug.
In summer frogs croak.

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